


The Regal Conflict

by BarqueBatch



Series: Howling Dogs & A Howling Commando [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 402 v 403, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes has dogs, Bucky Barnes's Hair, Bucky's bedside manner is perfection, Bucky's dogs are NOT fat, Buff Steve with medical issues, Chicago transplants, First Kiss, Huge dogs, Huskies are peoples too, It's glorious NASA hair, Loud dogs, M/M, Malnati's Pizza as a bribe, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Neighbor feud, Piano player Bucky, Secretive Bucky, Space nerd Bucky, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve smokes pot, Twitterpation: It's what's for dinner, comic book artist, door note meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarqueBatch/pseuds/BarqueBatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a comic and graphic novel artist that needs a minimum of seven hours sleep every night to keep his problematic health issues at bay. That becomes nearly impossible when his new neighbor's dogs start waking him up at 4 AM every morning. When Sam makes a suggestion on how to handle the problem, Steve doesn't quite follow through the way Sam intended.</p><p>James Barnes just wants a quiet place to hole up with his dogs when he's not working. He's paying decent money for a place more off the grid so he can steer clear of people and be left alone. So why the hell is he coming home to a hostile note on his door?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hell Hounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/gifts).



> You can blame [Brenda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda) for [this tumblr post](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/post/131854403549/ohcaptainmycaptain1918-theinturnetexplorer)
> 
> This is where I settled upon for their apartment building, thus the title:  
> [The Regal Apartments](http://www.apartments.com/the-regal-apartments-chicago-il/76ryzsw/)  
> It doesn't look like much outside, but I love the wood ceiling facade and beams! Most other places looked more like sterile hotel rooms than someplace to call home for a while.

6:00 AM

Barking.

So. Much. Barking.

How could there even be a dog that could bark that much non-stop? Did it even stop for breath? Wasn’t its mouth dry by now? Was its owner deaf? Negligent? Did they have a death wish, because the other tenants in the building were not tolerant people. Were they really not hearing this? Were they just ignoring it?

Steve groaned and pulled his pillow over his head while he prayed for some divine intervention. This must be what was known as the Seventh Circle of Hell, because this now marked the seventh day in a row that Apartment 402’s dog went on a barking spree. Three hours, every morning, starting at 4 AM sharp. And not that mildly annoying yipping that chihuahuas do. That, he could at least block out with his ambient noise machine. No, this was deep, resounding, canine sonic booms that went on forever. It was insane.

The last question was bouncing around in Steve’s head. If their other neighbors were ignoring 402’s Hell Hound (should be a graphic novel), what did that tell him about 402’s human occupant? Did the King of Hell just move in next door? Was he flashing red eyes at Nick in 405 so the “contractor” would leave him alone? How was he shutting up Fontaine in 401? That guy never shut up for anyone. He was the floor gossip, an old busy body that would broadcast your business more efficiently than the Chicago Tribune. And Natalia! How was he managing her? Steve still wasn’t entirely sure what she did for a living, but he was pretty convinced that she knew where actual bodies were buried, and he didn’t mean in the local cemetery. 

Okay this is stupid, he thought as he rolled over and stared at the decorative wood beams on his ceiling. His brain was just fatigued from sleep deprivation, that was all. It was going ridiculous places just because he needed more sleep than the average workaholic. Here it was, now 6:30, and there was no point in going back to sleep. He couldn’t if he tried; the dog was still over there asserting itself as owner of the building.

Steve rolled his tired, 6’ 2” frame out of bed and trudged into the bathroom. His eyes were bloodshot, and his chest felt tight. Great. He’d be having to bust out his stronger asthma inhaler by the end of the day if he wasn’t careful. At least today was Friday. He could crash a little earlier tonight and then nap tomorrow after the beast wrapped up its morning performance. Thank the stars that today was his day to telecommute because he really did feel and look like shit.

*^*^*

“You look like shit.”

Steve rolled his eyes and took another sip of his woefully decaffeinated coffee. Too many of his medications had the potential to have bad side effects when mixed with caffeine so he couldn’t partake of the full joy of a good, strong blend of richly roasted beans. There would never be a time that he wasn't deeply bitter about that.

“Thanks, Sam,” he muttered to the monitor mounted above his light table. “Why are we friends again?”

“For me to tell you that you look like shit when you actually look like shit. Which you do. Your neighbor’s mutt still singing the song of its people?”

“I’m thinking about buying 402 a Pavarotti CD so it at least has something to harmonize with,” Steve groused as he reviewed his work from the previous afternoon.

“Maybe Fischer-Dieskau,” Sam suggested. “Baritone. A tenor like Pavarotti will just bug it more.”

Steve looked up and just stared at Sam. His friend just shrugged. Steve continued to stared until Sam threw his hands up on the other end of their Skype video chat.

“What? I can’t help that you’re not cultured!”

“I’m gonna rat you out to Riley,” Steve grinned deviously as he separated out the cells he was satisfied with.

“Oh them’s fightin’ words,” Steve’s department lead shot back. “And here I was about to offer to pick up your stuff for you so you didn’t have to bring it in Monday…”

“Okay, truce,” Steve smiled as he raised his hands in surrender. “Depending on how the weekend goes, I might actually need that. Losing sleep isn’t doing me any favors.”

“You know, I think you’re missing an opportunity here.”

Steve looked back up from his cells. They had to be better than perfect this time. Sam had worked hard to get him the gig doing the art for a new graphic novel writer that was on the rise. Steve was making good money, but if this commission took off like they expected it to, Steve’s going rate would shoot up dramatically.

“Oookay… go on. You’re going to anyway.”

“Man…” Sam probably would have swatted the back of Steve’s head if he’d been there in the room. “All I’m gonna point out is that your neighbor might be… _attractive_ and _single_. They might actually be okay with a smartass hermit who telecommutes by necessity because he can’t always play well with others…”

“You mean I don’t kiss anyone’s ass,” Steve grunted, taking another resentful sip of impotent coffee.

“Steve, there’s ass kissing, and then there’s just keeping your head down so it doesn’t get knocked off from you getting a little too self-righteous,” Sam sighed.

“Are we back to Nancy again?”

“It’s not just Nancy,” Sam bellowed, then lowered his voice with a sharp look over his shoulder. “It’s a lot of things like Nancy, but seriously Steve, what went down between her and Rumlow was none of your business.”

“Guy’s an asshole.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” the groan that came from Sam exasperated as he rubbed at his eyes, “but still… there are times to pipe down.”

“That wasn’t one of them,” Steve growled, refusing to budge on that particular point.

“So attractive,” came the pointed shift backward in the conversation. “Why don’t you just _politely_ talk to them. Did I mention being _polite?_ Just throwing that out there.”

“I’m not actually an asshole, Sam.”

“No you’re not. You’re actually just the opposite… until someone pisses you off and then you can’t put a lid on the sass. I’m just sayin’ put a lid on the sass, Steve. That’s all.”

Steve leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palms over his damp hair. “I keep trying to catch them, but I think they work odd hours.”

“Okay well, you’re an artist,” came the reasonable reply. “Draw ‘em a cute little picture with a note and leave it on their door.”

This was why Sam was the department lead. This was how Sam got him the jobs.

*^*^*

Steve was on his way to pick up his mail when he finally heard a voice just on the other side of 402’s door. He approached the apartment, intent upon knocking when something thumped hard against the door. Steve backpedaled as a loud whine and another thump came through the door. That was one big ass dog.

_“Okay, okay! Gimme a minute and we’ll go for a walk!”_

Walk, huh? Steve decided to err on the side of caution and go get his mail. He could be all casual and check this guy and his dog out before he tried to talk to him. He took the stairs, figuring the guy wouldn’t take a large dog into the elevator. Besides, going down stairs wasn’t a problem for Steve. He just had to be careful about going up.

He stood there with his box unlocked until he heard the scrabbling on the stairs. He slowly pulled his mail out a piece at a time until his neighbor came into view.

With two of the biggest Huskies Steve had ever seen.

They were gorgeous, and fairly intimidating… and there were two. TWO. No wonder it seemed like the thing never took a breath; they were fucking taking shifts. This guy was a dick. He had two ginormous dogs that clearly broke the rules of the apartment building. And waking Steve up way too early.

Steve tried to be subtle as he tried to suss the guy out. With his plain, navy-hued, ball cap that matched his t-shirt, he looked like he might be a bit of a jock. The charcoal track pants and tennis shoes added to that notion… except he wasn’t walking with his chest puffed out. He kept his head down, but Steve could see his eyes subtly darting about. His hair was also a bit long for the jock aesthetic that populated the local colleges. 

Oh shit, he had an arms dealer next door.

The guy made brief eye contact with him and nodded as he passed.

Chills went down Steve’s spine as he nodded back. Those were definitely not the eyes of a college jock. They were icy and assessing… 

...and really fucking hot.

Steve turned his head to watch the guy leave with his dogs. Of course he had small ponies for dogs; he was built like a brick shit house. You could bounce a quarter off-

Steve jerked his eyes back to his mail. Dogs. The Hell Hounds. And they’d sounded like elephants coming down the stairs. Surely 302 was also in their own private hell right now, because Steve didn't even want to try to imagine what those two must sound like from the apartment below. Hopefully they'd complain soon.

Oh. Clint was deaf though, or really close to it. He didn't sleep with his hearing aids in so he was likely oblivious to the buttcrack of dawn boof-fest.

TWO. There were two, and they’d barely acknowledged his presence beyond two loud snorts. Like he didn’t even rate a hand sniff. What dogs didn't want to sniff strangers? For that matter, the guy had barely acknowledged him either. No offer of apology for his insane dogs, or even an inquiry as to whether they were being too much of a nuisance.

Right. Dick.

“Yeah, I got your cute little drawing,” Steve muttered, squaring his shoulders and slamming his mailbox shut.


	2. The Malnati Bribe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Steve's note to 402](http://36.media.tumblr.com/855b7848578f100716220734b93de9e8/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo1_500.jpg)

“What the ever-loving fuck is this…?”

Keys in hand, James Barnes stared at the sheet of paper taped to his door. His mouth fell open as he read the short note with what initially looked to be a cute little drawing of Mickey Mouse on it.

 

Dear 402,  
Your two dogs woke me up every night this week at 4 AM!  
Please silence your hounds from Hell.  
Regards,  
403

 

Mickey was flipping him the bird.

“Oh that’s just wrong, using Mickey like that,” he muttered. He flicked his keys and yanked the note from his door, already preparing a choice rant for his jerk neighbor. Bella and Rig were whining pitifully inside his apartment though, so he stopped midway. He looked down at the note, then over at his own apartment. They’d been cooped up all afternoon while he ran errands, and they both had mild cases of separation anxiety now. His last job had taken longer than he’d expected, but at least Nat was here to pick up the slack.

The reasons he’d taken her up on moving into The Regal in the first place were very specific. Chicago was not his choice of places he’d like to hunker down. He was here because they needed him long-term, and if he had to be here, The Regal was close to some of the things he actually liked about The Windy City. Navy Pier had a lot of nice events and good food. Adler Planetarium was such a regular haunt for him that they rarely charged him anymore. He volunteered at Shedd Aquarium when his schedule permitted, so no admittance charge there either. Malnati’s had the best pizza around, and was just a few blocks over. The jazz bar nearby could be counted upon for relaxing music when he was in the mood for it. It was all nice and close, but he could still be a little off the beaten path, which was what he needed most when he finished a job. He needed peace and quiet, not harassment from some overgrown bud toker.

Speaking of Nat…

“Nevermind. I know exactly how to deal with you,” he growled, tempted to wad up the note and cram it under 403’s door. “You wanna play, asshole? We will definitely play.”

*^*^*

“No.”

“C’mon, Nat! The guy’s a jerk!”

“Steve? There’s nothing wrong with Steve. He’s a nice guy.” The gorgeous redhead shot a dubious look over her shoulder, then an even more dubious look at the Subway baggie sitting on the couch. “This is not Malnati’s, James.”

“Steve? That’s his name?!” James stopped pacing. “Why would I get you Malnati’s when you just shot me down?”

“Because you still owe me tiramisu. Now I want bruschetta and tiramisu,” she responded calmly. “And since when is Steve a bad name for a guy? He’s kinda cute…”

“He’s a meathead! He had on a cap and hoodie, Nat,” James sniffed. “Who wears a fucking hoodie in July? Stoners, that’s who! Does he think I don’t smell that?”

“I seem to recall you having some issues with alcohol once upon a time, James,” she warned with her eyes narrowing. “You really wanna throw stones at the stoner? Maybe it’s medical marijuana.”

“You can only have 2.5 ounces in fourteen days. He’s smoked through way more than that in the last week alone! I’m waiting to see Cheech & Chong stumble out of there in a cloud of smoke any minute now.” Nat snorted and covered her mouth with a roll of her eyes. 

“Dramatic, much?”

“This isn’t funny,” he accused, pointing to her then the dogs who were both watching the argument like a tennis match. “The babies were belly up two nights ago, and didn’t even want to take their walk! I have to put wet towels over the register and under the door to keep it from wafting in!”

“They were belly up from you forgetting to put the roasted turkey breasts away like I told you,” Nat corrected. “They weren’t high. They were trypped out… and see if I bother cooking anything like that for you again.”

“I said I was sorry, Nat.” He really was. It was a damn shame he’d gotten distracted because that was some of the best turkey he’d ever tried. “Nat… please. Help me out here.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of your dramatic rendition of Hatfield & McCoy,” she grimaced. “I don’t have any problems with Steve. I’m going to keep it that way.”

“But you’re not gonna be,” James smiled sweetly. “You said yourself that he doesn’t know you can draw. Just do the art. I’ll write the note and put it up myself… and I’ll totally buy you Malnati’s anytime you want it for the rest of the month.”

Natalia eyed him suspiciously, then glanced at the couch. “Bullshit,” she laughed.

“I’ll go get it now,” he promised.

“Fine, bruschetta and tiramisu” she sighed as she picked up the Subway baggie with two fingers, “but you’d better get something too; this sub is half eaten already.”

"Huh?" James looked at the bag and the three massive bites taken out of the side. His eyes bugged and he turned on his huge furball. 

“Rig! Bad boy!”

Bella remained stoic as Rig threw his head back and howled mournfully. 

*^*^*

James peered into the hallway to see if it was clear. He looked at the sheet of notebook paper and grinned maniacally. He’d composed his response with the utmost care once Nat had gone back to her apartment, and then spent almost forty minutes just looking for scotch tape to hang it with. Nat definitely hadn’t let him down with the artwork. He did feel a little bad about Mickey, but now he was ready to fire back with his own salvo. Mickey just became collateral damage.

“FYI, motherfucker,” he whispered under his breath as he taped the note to Steve's door, “4 AM ain’t at night.”

He jogged back to his own door where the babies were sitting patiently. He threw his arms around both their necks and rubbed their backs.

“Hounds from hell, my ass,” he cooed. “Nobody talks about my babies that way, do they? We’ll show ‘im, right? Right?” Bella snuffled loudly against his hair and put her paw upon his knee. It instantly made him feel better, but he knew what would top the night off perfectly.

He stood up and spoke brightly to the larger dog. “Rig…! Rig!” The Husky tilted his head to the side and perked his ears toward his human. James tossed his head back and made a kissy face at the ceiling. Rig instantly threw his own head back and howled long and loud, his deep voice echoing off the wood floors and ceiling. James repeated the action and then started running back and forth through the apartment. Rig and Bella gave chase with Bella joining in on the whole howling thing. They knew they were going to get treats out of this, and they both gave it their all. Of course, Huskies on slick wooden floors weren't exactly graceful. His side table nearly went the way of the dodo, but who the hell cared? It was worth it, and he'd never really been all that attached to that cheap lamp anyway.

James couldn’t be more proud of his skidding, howling pups... until he noticed that his leftover pizza was gone.

"Aw really, you two? Really? Is nothing sacred?"

They both continued to howl joyously, still doing laps of the apartment. Oh well. It was awfully cute, and it wouldn't be the first time he had to sleep with the windows open.


	3. Buffalo Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Bucky's note back to Steve.](http://40.media.tumblr.com/2aca3c30e372e964059df1c741a5f9a8/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo2_500.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the helpful anon on tumblr, yes, huskies are normally medium-sized dogs, however sometimes the amazing exception comes along.  
> [This was Buddy,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNJ-ks-z4Aw) and he was the inspiration for Bucky's huge beasties.

Steve jolted awake and looked frantically about his darkened room. The bang had been loud enough to be heard through his earphones, but he wasn’t entirely sure it had been real. His heart beating fast from being startled, Steve yanked his earbuds out and sat upright. He calmed his breathing and listened, wondering if maybe he’d just been dreaming. His answer came in the form of a crash and multiple howls.

The cackle of laughter that followed made no sense whatsoever to Steve. Who the hell laughed over something shattering in their home? By the sound of it, it wasn’t just a little dish either. Whatever that was, it was big. This guy was on crack. He had to be.

Steve threw his earbuds onto his nightstand, swung his legs over the side of his bed, and looked at his watch. He’d gone to bed at 8:30 tonight, wanting to try to catch up on some much needed sleep. He’d now been out for an amazing, whopping...

One hour and twenty minutes.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve snapped. He ran his hands over his face to get his wits about him. He was gonna go talk to his neighbor after all. The guy had to have seen his note, and this was his response?? Slam-dancing with his Miracle Gro mutts?

He glanced over at his wall as he heard muffled speaking from 402. Unable to help his curiosity, he got up and pressed his ear to the wall.

_“No, out! Out! Gotta clean up your mess, you oaf!”_

Okay well at least he was a responsible crack head. Steve might not be fond of the two dogs right now, but he didn’t want them to get hurt either. Then again, what was this guy thinking having two dogs that big in an apartment anyway? He’d be surprised if the guy had any breakable items left by now.

The howling started anew, and Steve’s head fell back to his shoulders. Jesus. Had he somehow managed to sleep through this this every night, or was Friday special somehow? He went to his window and cracked it for some fresh air, except now he could hear the guy much clearer.

_“No! No treats! You ate my pizza, you lil shits! You were bad babies!”_

"Oh, well... yay for the babies for eating your pizza, you dick," Steve muttered, then stopped. Babies? Did he really just call them _babies?_ Those were not _babies,_ those were Shetland ponies in disguise. What kind of a douchebag called two dogs that big 'babies'?

Right, the same douchebag living next door who was apparently playing touch football with his two linebacker dogs.

Okay, he had to go talk to this guy. Steve desperately needed sleep, so he had to make 402 see reason somehow. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and his tennis shoes before heading to his door, not bothering with his contacts. He didn’t need to really see the guy-

Steve doubled back to the bathroom to put his contacts in.

Seeing was important! He could trip... or something... and that would severely undermine his ability to make a strong case for himself. He was working on that strong argument when he yanked open his apartment door...

...and found a note taped to it. 

For a split second, he thought it was _his_ note, but it was on lined paper (who did that??), and definitely _not_ his drawing. In fact, the drawing that was on the note was… horrifying.

 

403,  
I think it’s all the marijuana smoke coming from  
your apartment that’s waking and baking them.  
Sod off,  
402

 

*^*^*

Bucky heard Steve’s (that name, seriously) door open and snapped his fingers at Bella and Rig. The two perked up, their focus entirely upon Bucky. He listened, waiting for either a knock at his door, or the slam of Steve’s. He didn’t hear either, just a quiet click of the door shutting again. He scooted closer to the wall and heard small beeps that might have been a phone being dialed. His suspicion was confirmed when he heard Steve's lowered voice speaking to someone. His luck, it was their landlord. He snorted quietly to himself. The landlord wasn't going to toss him out, but he might have to lay on the charm over this one. He listened a bit longer to see if he could pick up any of the conversation, but it sounded like Steve had walked into the other room.

“Wuss,” he grunted, his eyes scanning his front room. He glanced down at the CD Natasha had left for him, and a wicked smile parted his lips.

“Babies…” he began the command as loaded the CD into the player. He reached for the stereo remote and clicked on the song he'd spotted. He turned toward his beloved pooches and grinned at them. It would take them a couple of minutes to get warmed up but once they did...

“Sing for Daddy!”

*^*^*

“I’m sure he’s an arms dealer… or some other violent crime perpetrator,” Steve spoke quietly into his cell phone as he fired up his laptop.

“Arms dealer, huh?”

“I’m serious, Sam!”

“Yes, I can hear that,” Sam responded with a carefully mocking tone. “Explain to me why an arms dealer would be living in your building? You’re not exactly in the coveted mecca of Chicago, Steve.”

“Maybe he’s up and coming,” Steve tried to reason, but Sam just huffed out a laughed in his ear. 

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

Steve’s lips pursed as he dropped down into his office chair and waited for his Skype to connect. When it pinged through, Sam’s amused face appeared, and Steve slapped the art-embellished note against his scanner and hit send. Sam’s expression changed only in the fact that he looked like he was trying to stifle some serious laughter.

“It’s not funny! Look at that! He chopped Mickey’s head off, Sam! He’s threatening me with Attila the Jarheaded Hun!”

“I- pffttt-” Sam couldn’t even finish his sentence. He was leaning back in his own chair, laughing and rubbing at his eyes. “Sod off? Is he European…? ‘Cause I’m telling ya, you gotta watch those tea drinkers-”

“Sam!”

“What?! This is the most childish-” Steve glared at him and he rolled his eyes. “Okay… Does he look like that?” he asked, pointing to his display of the note.

“What?”

“Does 402 actually _look like that_?”

“No! He dresses like a jock, except he’s got longer hair-”

“Mullet?”

“No, it’s not a mullet; I said jock, not redneck!” Steve paused and backed up a bit as he thought back to that morning. He had a lot of shit still wrong with him, but his memory had always been exemplary. “Well I don’t think it is. It’s not _that_ long in the back… He had a ballcap on so I couldn’t see the top, but he’s built like a soccer player and shorter than me.” 

“Shorter, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “Not a lot though-”

“Built though-”

“Yeah… like a soccer player, you know-”

“No, not really-”

“Compact and tight, but not too muscly? Not too meathead, just-”

“Attractive?”

“-built... What?! No! Sam!”

“You just described him like you find him attractive,” Sam barked defensively.

“Sam, _no!_ You don’t get it. This guy’s eyes were cold and calculating! They were this icy, greyish-blue that was just-”

“Hot,” Sam supplied, but Steve growled loudly, completely annoyed.

“No, not hot! Like he’s a mob enforcer, or an assassin, or…”

His words cut off as 402’s stereo came on. Both men blinked at one another as they worked through their mutual confusion.

“Is that… _Pass the Dutchie_?!”

Steve turned away from Sam's disbelieving gaze and looked over his shoulder at the wall he shared with 402. He looked back at Sam, who had now dissolved into helpless fits of stomach-clenching guffaws.

“Yeah, that’s a violent, deadly man alright,” he wheezed. “I can just _hear_ the danger rolling in on that bad 80’s groove..!” 

“Sam,” Steve sighed and glanced over his shoulder again. “Okay, maybe he’s a drug dealer!”

“OoooHOOO,” Sam roared, “maybe icy eyes sells _POT_ Steve! Quick! Call your landlord!”

“That’s not even funny,” Steve frowned. “You know why I smoke.”

“Don’t even,” Sam groaned with an offended roll of his eyes. “You’re not gonna play martyr with me. Not on this. You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re making assumptions about this guy when all he’s doing is being a little obnoxious. Suck it up and go talk to him like a sane adult. Your hermit ass still knows how to do that, right? Be a sane adult?”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Steve pouted, trying to hold onto whatever good bit of argument he had. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Oh sweet,” Sam grinned, instantly happy again and eager to have come to some kind of resolution as he waved at the area past Steve. “Go knock on his door and ask him for a playlist! You can bond over doobies and cheesy music! Hell, bake him some brownies! Maybe he’ll share with you!”

“I called you for guidance here, Sam!”

“And now you’re whining. You really are sleep-deprived,” Sam grimaced. “Look, if you’re not gonna talk to him then… You’re both artists! Keep trading passive-aggressive note on his door until one of you caves and you have angry sex.”

Steve’s mouth fell open as he gawked at his best friend. Sam just shrugged and blinked infuriatingly knowing eyes at Steve, which just made his discomfort worse.

“Don’t even look at me like that,” Sam warned. “Angry sex is-”

“Goodnight, Sam.” Steve nearly knocked over his glass of water as he lurched forward to disconnect the call. That was not helpful in the least, which was unusual for Sam. That guy normally had ten diplomatic ways around everything.

His phone buzzed a moment later and he touched the screen to wake it up.

**Okay, offer him a Rubik's Cube along with the brownies. Who could reisist that? :)**

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved his phone away from him. He was definitely not feeling diplomatic or gracious or magnanimous as he yanked a piece of blank paper from his stash, and snatched up his favorite pen.

“Could’ve at least had one of Mickey’s friends lob his head off, you ass,” he muttered as his pen flew over the paper. He glanced at the hulking figure brandishing a wakizashi sword on 402's note. “Who the hell _is_ that…? And what self-respecting artist draws on lined paper anyway…?”

The music on the other side of his wall changed over to a new song, and now Steve _knew_ this guy was yanking his chain, because Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” was definitely a pointed jab his way. To add salt to Steve's wound, the asshat started his dogs up howling again around the two minute mark.

_“Ayeuh yuh yuh! Ayeuh yuh yuh yuh! Ayeuh yuh yuh yuh YUH yuh yuh yuh YUH!”_

Had Steve not been so pissed off, he might have grudgingly admitted that the dogs were at least pretty good at howling along with that part.


	4. The Ex-Factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Steve's new note to Bucky](http://36.media.tumblr.com/81e4c6de0e573195283e2ecfadd7ccf0/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo3_1280.jpg)
> 
>  Ruh roh.

“Sod off..??”

James gripped the decorative couch pillow that had never been his idea, but was there because Nat had insisted that couches needed fancy pillows. Now he was re-visiting the wisdom of having said pillows when his ex-wife looked like she was about to clock him in the head.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked defensively, still keeping the pillow at the ready. “You say it, and you live here!”

“I was born in Stalingrad grew up in London, James,” she reminded him. “I’m a bit more qualified to use that phrase than you, Mr. Shelbyville.”

“Hey, I grew up in Brooklyn though,” James groused over the technicality, “and I’m well-traveled these days, in case you’ve forgotten?”

“It sounds ridiculous. He probably thinks you're a Eurosnob,” Nat snapped back at him with a wave of her hand toward Steve’s apartment. “You’re just showing off for Steve and you’re too thick to even realize it.”

“Whaaat?” James turned around to hang his arms off the back of the couch so he could stare at her like she’d just developed a foul body odor. “Why the fuck would I show off for some idiot that leaves Mickey Mouse to do his dirty work for him to diss my dogs?!”

With his arms over the couch, he didn’t react fast enough to evade the pillow swung at his head. It ruffled the back of his hair up into a weird, static-y poof, and he growled warningly at Nat as she leaned into his face.

“Because you’re an idiot that had me draw Timothy doing YOUR dirty work for YOU… show off,” she growled back, giving the back of his bicep a vicious pinch that made him yelp.

“Well it’s not like I could whack off Mickey’s head myself,” he reasoned, rubbing at the spot that was probably already bruising. “Dum-Dum's never been big on Disney. Besides, Gange-O-Rama started it!”

“This is why we’re divorced, James,” she sighed. “You’re a child trapped in a grown man’s body.”

“We’re divorced because we were stupid enough to get married at seventeen,” James corrected primly, “and because you still, to this day, refuse to call me Bucky.”

“It’s a ridiculous name,” Nat sniffed with a beleaguered roll of her eyes. “I got enough grief from my family for marrying you without telling them you preferred ‘Bucky’ over ‘James’.”

“It’s what I’ve always gone by, and you should have loved me as I am, Mrs. Shostakova,” he ribbed at her with good-natured intent. Despite what wouldn’t seem amicable to outside eyes, their divorce had been a mutual decision after they realized they were much better as friends. Bucky wasn’t sure he knew how to do a simple relationship, much less be a responsible husband. Maybe that would change one day, but right now wasn’t looking too promising. He was fine being a single dad to two walking hair factories though, and the reality was that he was closer to Nat now than he’d ever been as her lover. He’d been right there when her second husband Alexi was killed during a test flight eight months ago. He had been the right kind of man to be a husband to Nat, an equal rather than just a passing fancy, and it had crushed her when he died. It was another reason he’d accepted the offer to base out of Chicago for a while. She’d returned to work four months ago but, by her own admission, wasn’t quite back on her game. Bucky was happy to be a pain in her ass until she was again. She’d done the same for him after that Nicaraguan job went so horribly wrong. Now he was finally getting to return the favor.

“It’s not Mrs. anymore, and I was seventeen, James. I still loved John Taylor.” She caught the slight pout that came to his lips and ruffled his hair affectionately. “You did pull off the fedora better than anyone else back then…”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky muttered, his nose wrinkled to look like he was more put off than he actually was. “Should I put a fedora on Dum-Dum for the next note?”

“What makes you think there’ll be another note?”

“Reading people is what I do,” Bucky shrugged. “I just have a feeling he won’t let that go, especially since you said the paper alone would offend him.”

“It was notebook paper,” Nat winced, probably still remembering the debate they’d had over using that instead of copy paper. "Toilet paper would have been less offensive. At least that would have seemed like an artistic choice."

“Maybe if I wiped with it first," Bucky dismissed with zero tact. "You said he draws comics?” he asked, and Nat narrowed her eyes at him.

“Graphic novels,” she corrected, like Bucky would actually give two fucks.

“Okay, long comics,” he snorted, shooting her a look over his shoulder.

“You’re such a five-year-old,” Nat chided, finally coming around to stand in front of him and signalling that she was about to leave. “Maybe I should start calling you Bucky. It’s more fitting for a man-child.”

He just grinned wolfishly at her, lightly pinching the skin above her knee. “You love me and my dogs.”

“I might actually love your dogs more than you right now. Verdict’s still out at the moment.” She leaned down to peck his cheek, then crouched down to scratch two furry heads where they were zonked out on their favorite throw rug. How exactly she moved so effortlessly in that pencil skirt was one of the great mysteries of the world, and for a fleeting moment, Bucky wished he could’ve been just a little less of a rogue back in the day. 

He looked back up when Nat walked back into his front room with a sheet of paper.

“Not a fedora,” she instructed, cracking a genuine grin. “I’ll make it a Rangers hat for you.”

She quickly left, leaving Bucky to blink down at the new note in his hand. The artwork this time had Mickey holding his own head and reading a note tacked to the wall:

 

Trump Card: Observe this apartment’s 50 lb. pet weight restriction.  
Your dogs have broken the fat sound barrier.  
APARTMENT RULES!  
NO FAT DOGS

 

“Oh _hell no!_ ” Bucky shot up off the couch and glared at his wall. “No fat-shaming my dogs, asshole! How dare you! Especially Bella! You don’t talk about a girl’s weight!” He looked down at Bella, who had cracked open both eyes and was watching to see if she needed to be concerned. Sure, Rig might be a little chunky in spots, but he was a growing boy! And Bella was perfect! She was a dainty eater for a dog! He scritched her ears and under her chin as his voice dropped low. "You are not fat, don't pay any attention, princess diva mutty-moo. No. Daddy will shove his pot right up his ass if he needs to. Yes he will."

He stood back up and paced around a bit before he let loose another bellow toward their shared wall.

“She is NOT fat, you Abercrombie motherfucker!” 

Dear, sweet, baby Jesus, he just yelled at his apartment wall over a note.

Still, this was not cool. The babies had just gotten a homemade meal from Nat (He’d gotten nothing, but whatever.), and were belly up for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t just tell them to sing again. They’d likely ignore him anyway. He turned a full 360 in his apartment as he decided what to do. When the answer finally came to him, he immediately felt calm again.

No one fat-shamed his babies.

*^*^*

Timothy “Dum-Dum” Dugan eyed the sheet of paper Natalia dropped into his hands with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“That doesn’t look like me, does it?” Bucky kicked him under the table. He rubbed at his shin and took another look. “I mean… do I really look that stupid?”

“It’s a caricature, Dugan,” Nat explained with infinite patience. “Your features are exaggerated… all of them.”

Bucky snorted loudly at that while he shoved a salsa-laden chip into his mouth. He was in a fantastic mood. The other guys would be showing up any time now, and then the festivities would begin. Bucky hadn't played poker with his old Army buddies in months. With the game playing on the TV and their favorite brand of tequila, this would be just the kind of Saturday he sorely needed. His buddies, raucous card games, and a new drawing from Nat that was sheer perfection. If this didn’t end the craziness, nothing would. Steve-O needed to learn his place-o in the apartment Wild Kingdom-o.

And Bucky’s ex-wife was the building owner.

Bucky would drop a mic, if he had one.

Boom, done!

*^*^*

Natalia was about to step into her apartment when Mr. Fontaine approached her. She smiled brightly, already knowing what was coming. She had a feeling she’d be getting free Malnati’s for way more than a month for this little reimagining of the Bay of Pigs.

“Miss Natalia! A word, s’il vous plait?”

Per their usual exchanges, she responded to him in perfect French. “Of course, Nel. How may I help you?”

“Miss Natalia…! The dogs! They are so loud! My sleep! My sleep! Will you speak with him, please? Can you not do something? I work so hard-”

“You’re retired,” Nat interrupted gently, though her eyes narrowed a fraction. Sometimes he forgot who he was talking to, and Nat’s bullshit detector was second to none. “I know you are up with the birds each morning.”

“But the barking and the banging! What does he do with them to make them bang so?”

“They are still pups, Nel. They’ll calm down once they’re used to their new home. Surely you understand this, yes?”

“I… but they are so big! What does he feed them to make them so big? Would they not be happier in a bigger place?”

Natalia folded her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders so that she towered over him. Still in her business attire, she cut a formidable figure.

“Nel, when was the last time I raised your rent?”

Fontaine stared at her, gauging the seriousness of her unspoken threat. “Never…?”

“Would you like that to change at all?”

Nel Fontaine licked slowly at the corner of his mouth, still having a silent, internal debate. He glanced at Door 402, now trying to hide his personal distaste from Natalia. Something resolved itself inside his mind and he gave her a very bright, very fake smile.

“I am up early anyway, and Celia has told me that earplugs would be wise.”

“Celia is a good woman. When you see her again, I’ll send some food with you to take to her.” Nat wasn’t normally one to worry about soothing the sting of her temper, but Fontaine was harmless, and this was, in her mind, a good cause. Bucky needed to work out his differences with Steve in his own way. He definitely did not need someone like Nel Fontaine inserting himself into the messy mix.

She gave the nosy little man a light hug, then let herself into her cozy little digs. There was a bottle of chamomile bubble bath calling her name.


	5. The N7 Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Bucky's rebuttal.](http://40.media.tumblr.com/349c90fb1cdfce4ff8e725f0ed683c14/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo4_500.jpg)
> 
> Obviously I had to do a reversal of cities since our boys are Brooklyn boys, so Attila (aka Dum-Dum) is sporting a Rangers hat instead of Cubs. Sorry Chicago! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I have moderate bipolar depression, and it's been aggravated by stress at work, so sometimes I just have to go hermit, block the world out and marathon Hawaii Five-O and Nova. Listening to people ramble on about things like ablation, deceleration, and bullet yaw speak to my heart, and make my inner science nerd very happy. Also...? Cute astrophysicist with an English accent and a penchant for Alton Brown-like demonstrations for the win on Mysteries of the Universe. Major brownie points for the documentary on the meteorite that scared the shit out of everyone in Chelyabinsk. Bless them and their love of dash cams!
> 
> Anywayyyy, thank you SO MUCH for all of you that are showing this little wad of fluff so much love. It makes me super happy, and I think you're all awesome. <3
> 
> PS: N7 soup from Thai Bowl really IS that magical. I kid you not.

Sam’s eyebrows went up when Steve answered the door. He held up the takeout bag and gave it a gentle shake. Steve took it gratefully and stepped aside to let Sam in.

“Wow, you’re not looking like a magazine ad right now, are ya?”

“I don’t ever look like a magazine ad, Sam.” Steve pulled the bowl of N7 soup out of the bag and popped open the lid. The mix of dumplings, cabbage, barbequed pork slivers, green onions, and baby bok choy made his heart sing along with his lacklustre appetite. Knowing Sam was more interested in the satay and fried rice, he took a sip of the broth straight out of the carry out bowl.

“Uh, I call bullshit, and so does every other person that’s ever seen you in person,” Sam countered as he pulled out a second bowl of the soup and put it in the fridge. He plopped the chicken skewers on top of the fried rice, and plopped himself down on the couch. 

“Oh, it’s gotta be in person?” Steve trudged over and sat himself down with the soup and a bottled water. He shrugged at Sam’s comment and continued to sip at the broth of his soup, relieved at the way the steam eased the headache he was trying to fend off.

“Well you do have a goofy smile,” Sam answered, jerking his shoulders upward without looking over at Steve.

“Gee, thanks.”

_”WaaaHOOOO!”_

_AwwROOROOOOOO!_

Sam’s eyes slid sideways to Steve’s wall, then silently to him. Steve just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s been going on about an hour, but it’s Saturday so I’m not gonna bitch about it.”

“Oh, that was human?” Sam asked, clearly dubious.

“I think so?” Steve smiled wryly.

“Does he do that a lot?”

“I don’t think that’s him, but apparently his dog likes whoever it is.”

“So it’s always that loud?” Sam looked over as Steve shook his head as he pushed the note toward Sam that he’d gotten earlier. He put his rice down on the coffee table as he fought back a laugh. “And what did you send him before this?”

Steve leaned forward and woke his laptop up to show Sam a scan of his previous note. Sam’s mouth twitched and his sigh turned into a long, rolling chuckle. “Sorry, man, but… this IS kinda funny. You DID call his dogs fat. You just don’t do that any more than you’d call his woman fat.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighed, wiping at his mouth with a paper towel. “I was pissed when I did it. Honestly? I agree with you. Mickey with the bong is kinda funny… even if it is on lined paper.”

“Yeah, that is kinda disgusting,” Sam nodded, putting the picture down and digging back into his food. “But on the upside…? Rangers, right?”

Steve blinked and looked over at him. “Rangers…?”

Sam barely paused his food consumption to point casually at the note. “Yeah, Attila’s pro-Rangers. Might not be from New York, but gotta appreciate his taste in hockey team, right?”

Steve leaned forward and zeroed in on the note. Sure enough, the silly caricature was wearing a Rangers cap. Steve’s eyes widened. “Shit, I hadn’t even noticed that.”

“Now I know you feel like shit,” Sam grunted past a mouthful of satay. “You notice everything.” He held the back of his hand up to Steve’s forehead just to have it quickly swatted away. He laughed and went back to his food once he’d taken a drink of his soda.

“I was a little distracted,” Steve muttered, picking his soup back up, but still staring at the note.

“Yeah, by his ass and his serial killer eyes,” Sam laughed. “What did you say-”

“Sam-”

“Icy, greyish-blue…? Oh wait! You said Arms dealing, mob enforcer assassin, didn’t you?”

“Take your Thai and leave me in peace,” Steve groaned, rubbing at his forehead.

“The soup too?” Sam snickered with a knowing, sidelong look.

“Soup stays,” Steve insisted. “It loves me in a way you can’t.”

“Weeeeeird,” Sam winced. “Show me the stills you so considerately sketched on your day off.”

Grateful for the change of topic, Steve did just that as he kept a firm grip upon his precious mini-vat of soup.

*^*^*

Steve leaned against the doorframe as Sam slipped past with his leftover fried rice. He turned with a genuinely concerned expression.

“Sure you don’t want this? You might not want to venture out tomorrow.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Steve promised. “Just need sleep. Gonna put my iPod on and call it a night. Besides, still got plenty of soup left. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No worries, man; I got your back even if you are hermit who needs to just go knock on 402’s door.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam was a few steps down the hall when Natalia exited her apartment. He stopped short and smiled his brightest, most charming grin.

“How you doin’?”

“Hey,” she smiled back demurely.

“Careful, Sam,” Steve called, “I’m pretty sure she could kill you with one pinky.”

Natalia smirked and looked Sam up and down, considering silently. “Maybe two pinkies,” she murmured, giving him a wink when he playfully grabbed his heart and stumbled sideways. 

“Natalia Shostakova,” she smiled wolfishly, offering her hand.

“Sam Wilson,” Sam replied in kind, his eyes darting to Steve. “Natalia... as in… his landlord?”

“The very same,” she answered as he continued to hold her hand.

“Steve’s been holding out on me then,” Sam admonished teasingly. “He never mentioned that his landlord was flat out stunning...”

She seemed to actually appreciate the compliment, which Steve had to give Sam due credit for. He gently released her hand and grinned mischievously toward Steve. “He can’t really help it though… He’s all hung up on Icy Eyes next door.”

Before Steve could get past the shock of being thrown so solidly under the bus, Sam had waved goodnight and made his escape into the elevator. Steve’s mouth snapped shut as he looked over to Natalia. Between them, another war hoop and eruption of raucous laughter swelled into the hallway. Natalia actually gave him an apologetic wince.

“Sorry about that,” she sighed. “I can tell them to pipe down. He’s got his Army buddies over and they haven’t been in the same city for a while.”

“So he’s Army…?” Steve really did try to hide the relief in his voice, but it was harder to do when he wasn’t feeling well.

“Ex-Army,” she answered carefully. “He had an injury that sidelined him four years ago.”

“I’m… really sorry to hear that,” Steve frowned. His eyes traveled over the woodwork of the hallway and ceiling as he formed his words just as carefully. He pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and glanced down at the floor.

“Look… I think he and I got off on the wrong foot… which I’ll take responsibility for…” He looked up at her with an earnest shrug of his shoulders. “I’m just not sure how to fix it at this point? It kinda got outta hand.”

He thought he saw a ghost of a smile on her lips, but with Natalia, it was sometimes hard to tell. She seemed to be sizing him up, but in a way that was different from when she interviewed him for the apartment.

“Icy Eyes, huh?”

“Uh…” Steve’s face felt like it was suddenly going nuclear, the embarrassed blush creeping uncomfortably down his chest. “He’s a little… intimidating?”

“It’s his job to be intimidating,” she responded lightly. “You should ask him about it sometime. He might not talk about it, but you’ll understand a lot more about him once he tells you what he does now.”

“I don’t wanna make him uncomfortable,” Steve hedged.

“You won’t,” she blinked. “He’ll answer or he won’t. The worst thing you can do is tiptoe around him.” She gave him another knowing smile. “You shouldn’t have much problem with that though.”

Steve winced, but she waved it off. He heard more laughter inside 402, and rolled his neck. “Okay but… maybe not tonight. Not sure interrupting him and his buddies would help matters any.”

“And you look like sleep would help a lot,” she added. “Go on. Go get some rest, and I’ll muzzle the beasts a little for you.”

“Oh, no no!” Steve held his hands up. “Not necessary! It’s Saturday, and you said he hadn’t seen them in a while-”

“It’s fine,” she shushed him. “They can bring it down to a dull roar. Also…? Close your vent and I’ll tell him to close his. It’ll help some. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed so you don’t share one, but I haven’t found a decent contractor to do it yet.”

“Oh,” Steve muttered dumbly. “Okay… if you’re sure.”

“Of course I am,” she smiled then pounded on door 402. “Bucky! Open up!”

Steve nearly fell over himself to get back inside his doorway and out of sight. He was going to close his door, but couldn’t help his curiosity. He kept it ajar just enough to hear 402 yank his door open. He spoke normally, but Natalia kept her voice lower. Steve could still just make out what was said though.

_”Did you really just call me Bucky?!”_

_“You said that’s what you wanted to be called.”_

_“Yeah… but I feel like I should bust open some cigars or something.”_

_“You don’t smoke.”_

_“Well… not like I used to.”_

_“You never smoked cigars, James.”_

_“Ouch, okay let’s go back to Bucky…”_

_“Pipe down, okay? People actually do sleep on Saturday too. And close your vent._

_"Did that asshole actually rat on me? He actually did, didn't he?"_

_"No, he didn't. In fact, I think you misjudged him as much as he misjudged you. I've gotten a couple of other complaints though, and Dugan’s warhoops could wake the dead.”_

_“True but… really?”_

_“Hey, I’m not telling you to bust out a bingo game; just take it down a couple of notches. The dogs can come over if that’ll help.”_

_“No, that's okay… I’ll put a lid on it.”_

_“Thank you… and put ‘em in cabs, James. Don’t let them walk home that way.”_

_“No, lesson learned there.”_

_“Good… Good night.”_

_“Night, Nat.”_

Steve heard the door shut, and suddenly Natalia was near his door. He nearly had a heart attack, knowing he was squarely busted when she called his name.

“Steve?”

He opened the door slowly and peered out. “Yeah?” he asked sheepishly.

“No matter what happens when you talk to him, no picking on his dogs. We clear?”

“You know about the notes?” he gaped, feeling his face heat up again.

“I know about everything, Steve,” she replied simply as though talking about the weather, “including that lovely, aromatic scent that wafts out of your apartment sometimes.”

“I have a card,” Steve hastened to inform her. 

“I know that too,” she smiled. “Knowing things makes me good at what I do.”

Steve scratched at the back of his head as he gave her a curious, but hesitant look. “Are you just our landlord…?”

She gave him a new smile that gave him goosebumps. “Ask Bucky. He might answer.”

Steve suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to know on either account.

And how the hell did a person snag the nickname Bucky?


	6. Aitutaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Steve's note back to Bucky](http://40.media.tumblr.com/a8c883feb17817984446676428e898ae/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo5_500.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You crazy kids send me the sweetest, funniest feedback. Love each and every one of ya. xoxox
> 
> Next chapter... THE MEETING...!!

As promised, the boys had dialed down their shenanigans to a more respectful volume. Bucky was really enjoying their long-awaited reunion poker match. It was a tradition they’d created for themselves after Bucky had to be discharged due to his injuries. It was good to know the boys were still together as a unit. That took an enormous weight off his soul; they were so solid and seamless as a team that they were much safer if they remained together. His priority had always been their safety above any objective, and that attitude earned him a few rough meetings with higher-ups, but he took their ire head on without one iota of regret. His team was worth a few dressing-downs and even some disciplinary actions. Cleaning toilets as a sergeant was just fine if it meant he brought his entire team home with nominal damage. There was usually a wealth of perks bestowed upon him by his Howlies once he finished shouldering the wrath aimed at him. Rare booze, astro-nerd fanboy items (Piece of meteorite from Chelyabinsk! Neil deGrasse Tyson’s signature!), a mouth-watering steak whose origins were never disclosed, and even a Rangers jersey. He didn’t need a single bit of it. In fact, he often tried to discourage it, but he also realized they had to convey their appreciation of his dedication to protecting them. 

The drag queen stripper had been a bit much though…

Truth be told, the look on Colonel Phillips’ face had been completely worth it. He’d walked into the barracks, taken in the scene, then quickly walked back out with a swipe of his hand through the air between them.

“Barnes, I DO NOT want to know…” he’d muttered, having immediately averted his gaze on his way out.

That had been a great night, all things considered.

Tonight was even better. The lack of noise, heat, sand, constant vigilance… he was okay with it. So were the Howlies. They were currently singing the praises of Malnati’s, and about to partake of another round of Cabo Wabo tequila. (Blue bottle, thanks.) Bucky was sitting this round out, but was soaking up the camaraderie when Dugan came back from taking a trash bag to the dumpster. He walked into the front room and dropped a sheet of paper into Bucky’s lap.

“That from your boy next door?”

Bucky looked down at the note. Mickey was there again, his head now re-attached with Band-Aid strips and a thin trickle of blood escaping. He was also now waving a pennant flag with the Rangers’ logo on it. At his feet was a pizza pie, and a bowl of dog bones.

 

Wait, you’re a RANGERS fan? … in CHICAGO?  
Truce.  
Wanna come to my place next Saturday to watch the game?  
I’ll bake deep dish pizza (stoner).  
You can eve bring your hounds from hell.”

 

Holy shit. This guy actually had a sense of humor after all.

Monty looked over Bucky’s shoulder, and studied the note drawn on heavy paper. 

“Reads a bit like date night,” he mused, then walked over to drop himself into the arm chair. “Well… for YOU anyway…”

Bucky realized the other four were staring expectantly at him. He gave a valiant try at schooling his expression, but if the mass of leers and smirks were any indication, he was failing miserably.

“What?” he rasped past his own thick tongue and dry throat. “No, it’s not like that. He wanted to kill me and my dogs just this morning.”

“Ahh the power of brutal sports,” Monty sighed, his tone as dry as Bucky’s throat. “Bringing every raging wanker within two hundred miles together in the spirit of being completely asinine and obnoxious.”

“Uh, we’re men,” Morita grinned. “Asinine and obnoxious is what we’re naturally good at. Even you Brits aren’t immune to it!”

“Oh no, we’re some of the worst around,” Monty agreed, bringing his pint up to his lips. “We’ve just learned to simultaneously be snobs,” he murmured off-handedly before taking a slow drink.

 _Go! Take him up on his offer!_ Dernier looked way too hopeful as he practically pleaded with Bucky, who just stared at him. His mind replayed the moment he’d seen Steve at the mailboxes. Bucky had excellent snap perception. His recall was incredibly detailed even when only given the briefest of moments to take in his surroundings. His mind was able to quickly file things away. It gave him his edge in the field.

Steve was tall, 6’1”. He was blond, his hair too long to be military background, but the cut showed he was picky about neat appearances. His hands were deft; his fingers long and agile as he pretended to flip through his mail. His stance announced that he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his skin. Even though his posture was good, he still seemed to slouch in on himself a little. Like he’d been a late bloomer and wasn’t used to being buff. The air of awkwardness was totally unwarranted though; he was built like God had just taken a long, tropical vacation and had found out he’d won the lottery when he got back. And his eyes… Had Bucky not had grueling training to counteract the reaction, he would have stumbled to a stop to gawk at the guy’s eyes. Yeah... God was just having the best day ever when he threw Steve together.

All told, a lazy afternoon watching hockey with a fellow fan that looked like Steve didn’t seem like much of a hardship. Not at all-

“Earth to Sarge,” Gabe laughed, snapping his fingers to break Bucky’s stare. Dernier was looking a little concerned about the way Bucky was still staring at him as he went into recall mode.

“Ça va?”

Bucky gave himself a little shake with a gruff laugh. “Oui,” he reassured his Howlie. “Oui, ça va.”

“You… went for a walk…?” he fussed. Normally, Bucky would hate that, but he was too happy to have his brothers around to be that bothered by it.

“All good,” he reiterated. “Just tired.”

“More like twitterpated,” Monty chuckled, which caused Dugan to burst into laughter.

“There were a couple of hearts that flickered around your eyes there, boss.”

“First, ‘m not your boss anymore. Second? I was just thinking… and ‘m a little drunk.”

“Bullshit!” they all bellowed at him. Dugan raised a finger to point his direction.

“You haven’t put down enough to be anything past tipsy, boss,” he exclaimed, ignoring Bucky’s words. “You used to drink us all under the table, and you were still able to stumble outside and take out a beer bottle across the river! Who you think you’re foolin’ here?”

“You do have have a cast iron liver, Sarge,” Gabe laughed, taking a swig of his beer. “We might need to meet this neighbor of yours… see if he can handle your brand of bullshit.”

“Not many people can handle my brand of bullshit,” Bucky groaned, reaching for the bottle of Cabo afterall. He was entirely too sober for this conversation, and it was clear that they weren’t going to drop it.

“Well, there’s a lot of it,” Morita shrugged, “but everyone’s got bullshit. It’s just… different bullshit is all.”

“C’est vrai,” Dernier lamented. “Connerie…”

“Connerie,” they all agreed, lifting their respective glasses of booze.

“Is it a good idea to get handsy with your neighbor though?” Bucky mused, chewing lightly at the inside of his cheek. “Could just make things worse, right?”

Dernier looked at him incredulously. He fired off a long string of French for Gabe to translate. Bucky’s French was okay, but when Dernier started speaking that fast, it was usually easier for him to just direct it to Gabe.

“Uh, he loves you dearly, but he thinks you might have been dropped on your head as a baby. He doesn’t think it could get worse or more annoying than what you’ve already started.”

“He started it!” he returned, ready for the six-way bickering to ensue per their usual M.O. “He insulted the babies!” 

“And now you’re a five-year-old,” Gabe laughed as he translated.

“I understood that part,” Bucky snapped. “He started it. I’m going to finish it.”

“Which has worked out so well for you in the past,” Morita goaded past a toothy grin. 

“Fifty-fifty,” Bucky shrugged, but then re-focused upon Dernier and leaned forward in his seat. “Je m’en fous.”

“You will when Nat kicks your ass for pissing off half the building,” Dugan scoffed loudly, and an explosion of bawdy laughter followed from the rest of them. Bucky was used to being the brunt of their ribbing. They all took their turn at some point, but he tended to paint the target on his own back quite a bit. This was their way, to tease each other mercilessly. Bucky was fine with it. They all were. They could talk shit all they wanted, but they also knew that when push came to shove, no one fucked with anyone among them without having the other five up their ass. That’s just how it was, and always would be until they were too old to cause shit anymore.

Actually Dugan would probably still start shit when he was too old to remember why he started the shit in the first place. If they made it to that ripe old age, Bucky would figure they deserved to say and do whatever the hell they wanted.

Not that they didn’t mostly do that now.

*^*^*

Once he’d pushed the lot of them into their own cabs, Bucky trudged upstairs. He was sleepy, a little tipsy, and very happy. He always felt lighter after seeing his brothers. They’d all seen so much ugliness in the world, but they still managed to remain positive people in spite of it. They were the best five guys Bucky had ever known.

He collapsed onto his bed and pulled out his phone to send a text.

**You awake**

**Yep.** The answer came back quickly enough to know she hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

 **Will you help me leave one more note to Steve** He chewed at his cheek while he waited for a response. Rig and Bella both jumped onto the bed, and Bella plopped her head down onto his belly. Rig almost did the same, but Bucky redirected him before he got a bowling ball of a husky head right on his crotch.

 **Only one more?** He could practically see her eyebrow arching.

**Last one promise**

**Fine, but only if you’re nice this time.**

**You will be amazed by how nice I am Nat** He grinned goofily as he pecked out the reply. He’d think of a way to thank her later… after he slept… a lot.

**Ugh. Go to bed. You’re not using nearly enough punctuation for me right now.**

**I am in bed and I capped your name didn’t I**

**I put it in your dictionary because I got tired of it being auto-corrected to gnat.**

**But you’re a beautiful gnat Nat**

**Go. To. Sleep.**

**Love youuuuuuu**

**Goodnight, Bucky.**

**Aww say you love me Nat**

**Fuck off.**

**Not fuck you?**

**I know better. You’ll turn it into something about our sexual past. There’s not enough Tums in the world for it to not fuck up my current chi.**

**But you love me say it**

**Put Tylenol and water on your nightstand.**

**See new you love me :)**

**I will rearrange your lungs, James.**

**Okay goodnight**

He tossed his phone onto his nightstand and yawned loudly. He was almost asleep when he remembered about the Tylenol. He might be trained to kill someone at least a thousand different ways, but Nat likely knew a thousand and ten. He stumbled into the kitchen for water, then into the bathroom. When he had what he needed, he flopped back down. He dutifully popped two Tylenol just to be safe, then allowed the dogs to rearrange themselves around him. After he fell asleep petting Bella’s snout, he dreamed about eyes the color of the waters of Aitutaki.


	7. Barfsville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE~~~~~  
> Not everyone noticed these, so if you missed them, do yourself a favor and clicky! ;)  
> \/ \/ \/ \/ \/  
> [Bucky’s final note](http://40.media.tumblr.com/cce3ba5744d21b7aa3599d9e5c4fb68b/tumblr_nwn5kcAi4L1qgthdfo6_500.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't even try to defend myself. ((halo))

Steve woke up to his entire body aching. He shifted slowly, feeling out his general well-being. He peeked at his alarm clock. Eight fifteen AM. He’d gotten plenty of sleep, but it was too little, too late. He could feel the first warning signs of the flu coming on. He could minimize it now, but not escape it.

Fuck.

He eased himself from his bed and made his way into his bathroom. His stomach still felt okay, but he’d also been eating his magical N7 soup. Good thing he still had a full container of it because he’d likely be sipping at it for the next three or four days. He shook out two Tylenol into his hand, and held his hand under the tap. He sucked the pills and the water down in one gulp, then reached for his toothbrush. He already had sick person breath going on, and that was just not how he wanted to start his morning. Not that it’d be much of a start of anything except migrating to the couch after a dose of Theraflu, toast, bland eggs, and his daily meds. He already had a cushy comforter slung over the back of the couch since he sometimes chilled when he was at rest. Once that happened, he often had a hard time warming back up. 

If Sam ever saw him blowing a hair dryer under his comforter to warm up, he would never, ever hear the end of it. He’d probably never hear the end of it if Sam even caught sight of the hair dryer. It wasn’t like Steve actually needed it. He wasn’t exactly sporting a buzz cut, but his hair wasn’t _that_ long. His mother would probably still have a fit if she saw him going outside with wet hair though…

Plopping a piece of bread into the toaster, he grabbed one egg and cracked it into his egg cooker. He reached over and hit the button on his electric kettle, and pulled out the loose herbal tea Bruce gave him for when he felt crappy.

Steve was waiting for all three to finish when he suddenly realized…

The dogs hadn’t barked… or if they did, it wasn’t enough to wake him up.

Holy shit.

Despite his aches, he strode to the door and yanked it open, then startled backward.

In his doorway stood Mr. Fine Ass Assassin himself, his eyes wide and his hand suspended in midair. A note with a piece of tape already attached to it dangled from his fingertips.

Wait, did his brain really just think that? He might have to double his dose of Theraflu. Maybe skip it altogether and go straight to Nyquil, even if it was still morning.

“Bucky?!”

Mr. 402’s eyes went wider for a second, then sharply suspicious, then carefully nonchalant with a touch of uncomfortable embarrassment.

“Uh, busted,” he muttered, lowering his hand and glancing over at his own door like he wanted to haul ass back to it. “Yanked that door open pretty fast, Steve. Y’got a fire in there or somethin’?”

“I uh…” Steve took his own glance around to stall. He didn’t really want to admit that the note in Bucky’s hand was what he was hoping to find. He hoped even more that it offered a mutual truce, because hearing Bucky’s voice face-to-face was… really… nice…

“I just realized I got to sleep until 8:15,” he admitted, making sure his voice relayed his jest. “I was coming over to make sure no one died.”

Brows raised for half a moment, then a small quirk raised the side of Bucky’s mouth. “Dogs too?”

“All of you,” Steve smirked back. Bucky seemed to relax at that, but a soft frown slid across his face. It seemed curious. Bucky confirmed that with his next question.

“Did Nat tell ya to call me Bucky?”

Steve’s mouth fell open to answer, then closed as he thought about his answer. He didn’t want to piss the guy off before they even got this truce off the ground.

“Uh.. no…? She just… called you that?” He quickly added, “If you’d rather I not call you that-”

“Nope,” Bucky shot out just as quickly. “No, Bucky’s what I’ve always been called. Childhood nickname that stuck… It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Steve sighed, unable to keep his relief hidden. The obligatory awkward pause. Awkward. Really… really… awkward. Oookay.

Steve’s eyes dropped to Bucky’s hand. He held out his own hand and smiled. “Do I need to call a medic for Mickey again?”

Bucky had this way of blinking slowly… Steve wanted to figure out what that slow, owl-eyed blink meant, what caused it to happen so he could just keep instigating it.

“Uh…?”

“Uh oh,” Steve chuckled. “Did Attila the Jarhead cut his head off again?”

Bucky slowly looked down at Steve’s hand, then his own. He seemed confused again, like he couldn’t find his footing or his tongue. Normally, Steve was the backward one that could never quite flirt. Now he was finding it surprisingly easy. This guy wasn’t coming across anything like he did at the mailboxes. Right now he was downright adorable as he silently handed Steve the note and squinted up at him.

Steve looked down and laughed. There was Attila, except now he looked more like he should be a mascot for Tonka rather than German porn. A puppy (definitely not drawn to scale) sat on his shoulder, both of them grinning while he held up a six pack and a pennant flag with a “W” on it.

 

I’ll bring the beers and dogs!  
Go Rangers  
=WOOF!=

 

Steve pointed at the flag, still laughing. “Is that…? Is that a W for weed?”

“Yeah…?” he answered, still speaking a little slowly. His expression softened back up as Steve shook his head and continued to giggle.

“Look, I have a medical card, okay? I’m not actually just a pothead.”

“Whatever, man,” Bucky finally seemed to regain his grasp of speech again and held his hands up. “Whatever works, right?”

“No really,” Steve sobered up a bit, though his tone remained light. “I have a medical condition that’s… problematic…? Every so often I have a spell where I need it.”

Bucky’s face fell as his eyes widened again. “Aw shit. I’m gonna feel like the biggest asshole ever if you have cancer-”

“No! No, no,” Steve immediately corrected him. “No… I uh… I have a lot of vitamin deficiencies. It throws off some of the chemical balances in my body. I have to compensate in kinda weird ways to offset it. My mood can go all over the place sometimes… The pot sorta brings me back level. I don’t always need it… You just caught me on a week where I did.”

Bucky still winced. “Hey, look… I didn’t know you had health issues you were dealing with. I wouldn’t have been such an ass…”

“Well I did flip you off,” Steve admitted with a smirk.

“No, you didn’t,” Bucky countered, easing into some of the sass Steve could see in his notes. “You had Mickey flip me off and then insult my dogs… which is really dirty pool.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his face flushing with a bit of shame. “It was. Sorry.”

“And they’re not fat,” Bucky frowned, though his eyes were maybe sparkling? It was hard to tell with his ball cap on.

“They’re not really dogs, are they?” Steve pushed. “They’re actually Shetland ponies that you’ve trained to bark… and sing along with Bob Marley.”

“Oh like that, did ya?” Bucky smirked, his eyes definitely proud in spite of himself.

“It was a little lost on me at the time,” Steve grimaced.

“Eh...yeah, I guess that’s fair,” he smiled. Steve smiled back. This was way easier than he’d thought it would be. This felt comfortable and familiar, even though he didn’t know Bucky. Maybe it was that New York spirit that they shared. This flirting business was moving right along.

Oooh except this wasn’t really flirting. Was it? That’s not what this was. This was just a guy coming over to end a neighbor feud before it turned way too nasty. This guy was ex-Army and a badass. He was loud and raucous. Outgoing. What would he want with a graphic artist who tended to be a big, honking hermit most of the time? Steve was just a potential buddy to hang with to watch the games with. Maybe split a delivery fee for food once in awhile.

But… it felt like he was flirting back… or maybe that was just his style? Maybe he was a hopeless flirt and it just seeped out through his smart mouth. Steve found it practically effortless to flirt with Bucky. He felt a lot smoother than he even was. Even with the flu coming on-

Oh shit. He was a walking petri dish of contagion right now. He had no business being in Bucky’s face. He should’ve quickly thanked Bucky for the note and made a hasty retreat. He probably just gave Bucky the Porcelain Curse already. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Steve…? Hey, you don’t look too good, buddy,” Bucky winced, reaching out for Steve’s arm. He quickly jerked backward and held up his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized as fast as he could. “I’m standing here flirt- TALKING to you and I’ve got a flu coming on. I’m an ass. I probably just got you sick. I’m so sorry. I should get out of your face. Go… bathe in antibacterial wash and like… gargle with Listerine or something…”

“Really?” Bucky pushed past him, reaching behind himself to drag Steve along. “Now I really feel bad. Sit down and get under that comforter. Is that tea you’ve got started? I’ll heat the water back up-”

“Wait, Bucky! I can’t let you play nurse. You should get outta here and down a multivitamin. Seriously-”

“Stop,” Bucky huffed. “Really, Steve, c’mon. You probably came down with this from the kiddos waking you up too early, so help me out here. I feel like shit about it, so lemme just do something nice to make up for it.”

“It’s not necessary though,” Steve pleaded. “We’re good, Buck. Really. I’ll be just fine. I’ve done this on my own plenty of times.”

“But you don’t have to now,” Bucky answered brightly. “I’m a bright fucking ray of sunshine, Stevie! It’s good for ya! Besides, you’re the most contagious right now, so I’m already exposed. We should keep the germs contained to your already germy apartment.”

They stared at one another, both a little blank in the face. Bucky was doing his owl-blink again, and Steve figured if he was going to feel miserable, seeing those icy blues play peek-a-boo through those dark lashes would ease at least some of his woe.

“Did you really just call me Stevie?”

“Did you really just call me Buck?”

They stared at each other again. Steve finally turned and picked up the comforter, trying to ignore the smile he caught on Bucky’s face from the corner of his eye. He curled up in one corner of the couch, burrowing into the comforter as chills started to settle in.

“Do you want a fresh piece of toast?” Bucky called over his shoulder, “or are you already pulling into Barfsville?”

“No, I don’t usually-” Steve had to cut his words short so he could sprint to the bathroom.

“Barfsville, it is,” he heard Bucky chirp under his breath as he leaned his back against the tub. Even in July, the chilled surface of the tub ended up being more than he could tolerate. He groaned softly, utterly humiliated that he finally had a hot, interesting guy in his apartment, and he was currently exiled to Barfsville, as Bucky had so eloquently called it.

“Stevie…?” Bucky peered around the door. “Hey, hold tight for a second, okay? I’m gonna run to my apartment for a couple of things that’ll help, and get the kiddos so they don’t start howling for me.

Steve looked up through bleary eyes and waved weakly. “Can you just gimme my blanket…?”

Bucky clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Hey, I know that usually feels better, but trust me, you should get back to the couch when you can, okay? I already put a little trash can by it with a liner.”

Steve could only close his eyes and groan again. He hated the ones that came on fast. He wasn’t usually one to throw up with the flu, but this one was apparently a nasty one.

“Just… gimme a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“You said a second,” Steve whined, bringing a smile to Bucky’s face.

“I’m a little hungover,” he admitted with a wink. Steve would have loved to have given him shit over that one, but Bucky darted out of the room. He found himself wondering what morning Bucky would be like if he weren’t hung over as he heard his front door click open, then shut. This had to be the most surreal experience of his life. He didn’t know why Bucky was really doing all of this, but he hoped this wasn’t a fever dream. Steve hated being coddled, but somehow this didn’t really feel like that. Bucky seemed incredibly genuine.

H wasn’t certain if he dozed off, or just drifted, but he heard Bucky speaking quietly in the front room.

“Lay down… Stay. Rig…? Good boy. Bella, here. Good girl. Stay.”

Soon Bucky was crouching down next to him. “Okay, how we doin’ pal?”

“I feel like shit on a stick,” Steve moaned.

“Throw up again?”

“Working on it,” Steve answered honestly. He was fighting it; he really hated throwing up pretty much worse than anything related to being sick. With a fever, you could coax yourself to drift until you managed sleep. There was no drifting through Barfsville though. That was more like that ninja obstacle course on TV.

“Okay, I’ll make ya a deal,” Bucky began, causing Steve to purse his lips in disbelief before he even heard the deal. “Jostle yourself just enough to get it over with, then come in and get back on the couch. I’ve got it all set up in there, and I’ll give ya the best nausea relief ever.”

“Bullshit,” Steve muttered, absolutely unwilling to move.

“Scouts honor,” Bucky grinned, holding up a hand.

“You were not a scout,” Steve challenged, not believing it for a second.

“Well, no,” Bucky admitted, “but I was a motherfucking Ranger. I think that gives me a few passes.”

Sick as he was, Steve couldn’t let the moment pass. “What are you now…?”

Bucky shifted his weight on his heels and gave Steve quite the assessing look. Steve didn’t flinch away from it, despite his eyes wanting to burn themselves out of his skull.

“I’m a hostage negotiator,” he answered carefully, his eyes not budging from Steve’s. Clearly he didn’t expect Steve to bust out laughing because he started doing the owl-blink again.

“‘The fuck?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve laughed, clutching at the tub as he shivered. “Your skills just jumped right off each page.”

Steve couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to fully enjoy the stunned gape he got out of Bucky. He heard Bucky shift again, then heard his name called softly.

“Steve…” Steve cracked open his eyes, to find Bucky had leaned forward into his space. Clearly he wasn’t afraid of any so bothersome as a few germs.

“I don’t do that part of the negotiations.”

“Oh.” Suddenly Steve understood the owl-blink a whole lot better. He was pretty sure he was doing it himself now.

“Couch?” Bucky grinned wolfishly. A bit like Natalia, actually.

“Couch,” Steve nodded, still trying to process who this guy really was.

“Wise, Grasshopper,” Bucky murmured, giving Steve’s head a gentle pat. He stood and offered his hand. “One more round first?”

“Uh… I… No. Maybe?”

“Okay, punk. Do your thing. I’ll meet ya in the front room.” He pointed to the sink as he left the room. Steve saw a glass of water, and a paper cup of Listerine already poured out for him, along with a fresh, damp cloth slung over the side of the sink basin.

Oh, this guy was _good_.


	8. Orion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's the guy you wanna have around if you're sick.  
> Huskies are peoples too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it for the main bit of story, but as I get inspired or get fun ideas from people, I'll come back and add one shots to this. There are aspects I still want to write for this, but I really need to get back to Revenir because... STEEB. *sob*
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for those of you that have been showing this little side story so much love. It's just made my day on so many levels, and I've enjoyed it so much that I probably won't leave it alone for very long. I already know I want to do a little snippet of the Howlies on that night that inspired Nat's warning about not letting them try to walk home drunk. :D Also...? First kiss. Cuz I love that shit. When I know how it's gonna go, I'll write it.
> 
> Since I've been asked by several readers, there's some visuals. They're at the end because one's a little spoiler. A lot of readers asked about that little bit of info, and so far no one's guessed correctly. :D

Steve was working his way back to the couch when he came face to face with Bucky’s hell hounds. Granted, they were laying down on their bellies, and their paws were stretched out before them like prim, well-behaved children, but there was something unnerving about the way they both lifted their heads at the same time to stare eagerly at him. Too eagerly. He was pretty sure they both were figuring out the best way to eat him. 

“Uh…”

Bucky rounded the corner from the kitchen, a spoon still clutched in his fist. He looked between Steve and the huskies, obviously not understanding Steve’s hesitance.

“What?”

“They uh… They’re staring at me.”

Owl blink.

“Well… yeah? That’s what dogs do…”

“They’re plotting to eat me, Bucky.”

Bucky began to laugh until he saw that Steve was truly wary of the two canines. He abruptly stopped and cleared his throat.

“Really?” Steve just returned the owl blink. Bucky half laughed again, then sobered. “Haven’t you ever been around dogs, Steve?”

“Sure, but they weren’t the size of small donkeys.”

“Jesus, they’re just babies, Steve,” Bucky laughed. “Bella… c’mere beautiful…”

Bella perked up at her name and trotted over to Bucky. He held his hand in a slightly unnatural position in front of her and she immediately sat down. Steve had to admit that was impressive. He reached out hesitantly and offered his fingertips to her. She looked at them, her nose edging forward just slightly before she shifted her attention back to Bucky. He murmured a soft word that Steve’s mucky ears didn’t quite catch, but she scooted forward and huffed softly into Steve’s palm. He wished he felt better, at least enough to enjoy the moment more. Still, a smile did come to Steve’s lips.

“Hey, Bella,” he whispered. “Sorry, but I gotta lay down.”

“S’okay, Stevie,” Bucky reassured him as he lightly touched Bella’s head. “Bella-”

Now that Bucky spoke at a normal tone, Steve realized that Bucky was speaking in a different language. It was why he hadn’t caught Bucky’s previous command to her.

“Is that… Italian?” Steve asked as he all but crawled to the couch.

“Romanian,” Bucky answered with a proud smile. “Lot of people know German commands, so I didn’t want that. Using Romanian instead.”

“Clever,” Steve half smiled as he eased his aching frame onto the couch. “Bella and…?”

“Rig,” Bucky grinned as the male looked up at him. “Professional food thief and stubborn ass.”

“Yeah, heard you yelling about the pizza,” Steve grunted as he tried to get comfortable. “Can’t lie about cheering for the dog.”

“Heh, yeah,” came the chuckle from the kitchen. Bucky had gone back in armed with the spoon that had the suspicious goo on it. “Fair enough… Hey, you took Tylenol, right?”

“I did, yeah,” Steve nodded. Bucky really had cozied up the couch, throwing a fluffy comforter on it for Steve to lay atop, then another over the back of the couch for Steve to pull over himself. He didn’t recognize the comforter below him.

“Is this yours…?”

“Yeah,” came the call back. “Didn’t wanna nose around your stuff looking for one. Besides… that one is really good for being sick on.”

“I didn’t intend to throw up on it,” Steve mumbled. 

"Didn't say you did," Bucky yelled from the kitchen, "but the fibers in the fabric are woven together really tightly. Makes it easier to clean, and it holds in heat really well."

Steve wanted to protest borrowing Bucky’s bedding, but it did warm quickly with his body heat, and the way it fluffed up around his aching body was too good to give up. Bonus points for smelling a hint of what he assumed was Bucky’s cologne or soap on it. It smelled clean, but not like laundry. It was nice. Comforting.

“Orion,” Steve blurted out as his brain suddenly shifted. A little corner of his noggin had been trying to place what it was that the dogs’ names reminded him of. Bucky came back into the front room with a worried frown. 

“Didya say something?”

Steve was beginning to feel a little goofy as his fever got the better of him. He felt groggy and chilled, but his eyes burned and his neck felt hot and particularly achy.

“Bellatrix and Rigel,” he muttered, pulling the foreign comforter closer. He was vaguely aware of Bucky pulling the other comforter over his body, and he sensed him as he crouched down next to the couch.

“Orion’s left side,” Bucky murmured back, and Steve was sure he heard a smile in his words. “What about 'em?”

“That what you named them after?” Steve pried his eyes open, and boy was he glad he managed it. Bucky’s face lit up like the very stars they were talking about.

“Yeah… and you’re the only one that’s ever guessed that,” he grinned. “I’m impressed, Stevie.”

“I’m impressed you’re that much of a nerd,” Steve cracked with the tiniest of smiles.

“Takes a fellow nerd to link them to a constellation,” Bucky countered, causing Steve to huff his amusement from the folds of the comforter.

“Never said I wasn’t,” he rasped. “Why’dya pick those two?”

“They were the runts of their litter,” Bucky smiled as he petted Bella’s head. Behind him, Rig had broken rank and was resting his snout on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tilted his head slightly to touch his jaw to Rig’s nose. “I knew they were gonna be big though, bigger than normal. Their daddy has mastiff in him and he’s huge. They’re both bright and big, and I’m a science geek. Why not name ‘em after two blue giants?”

“I like it,” Steve smiled back. “Great names.”

“Thanks,” Bucky beamed, landing a gentle pat to Steve’s shoulder. “Be back in a couple of minutes.” 

He pointed to each dog. “Bella, Rig... şedea…” He then pointed to Steve. “Proteja.”

Steve watched through slitted, burning eyes as both huskies sniffed at him, then situated themselves in front of the couch. Both laid down facing the kitchen so they could watch for Bucky. Steve couldn’t help but think it was adorable.

“What did you just say to them?”

“Told ‘em to stay there and protect you.”

“Oh,” Steve blinked, taken aback by how much warmth shot through his body from Bucky’s answer. He coughed and groaned at the discomfort it caused, then froze as Rig sat up and softly whined at him. The enormous male sat up and turned, then dropped his snout onto the couch near Steve’s hand. He lifted his fingers to gingerly pet the concerned mutt. Rig seemed pleased by that and snorted happily. At least it seemed happy? Steve couldn’t be sure beyond the gut feeling he had, but it gave him a sense of comfort.

The comfort must have been good for him. It seemed like he just barely closed his eyes before he heard Bucky whisper quietly, “Stevie…? Y’awake?”

“Mmhmm,” he answered, still groggy.

“Okay, got something for you to eat a little of, and I brought you some Pedialyte.”

Steve hadn’t opened his eyes until that, but now he did and his face squished into a comical frown. “Do I look like a toddler?”

“You look like someone who’s gonna end up severely dehydrated if we’re not proactive about it,” Bucky responded seriously. “It’s kinder on your stomach than Gatorade when you’re nauseated.”

“Oh,” Steve repeated, caught a little off guard by how easily he accepted Bucky’s explanation. This guy used to be a Ranger. That was serious stuff, and Steve had no doubt that Bucky knew way too much of this from first-hand necessity.

Bucky held a coffee mug close to Steve’s face, and Steve lifted his head enough to take a drink. The grape flavor was passable, but what really set Steve’s brain into a spin was feeling Bucky’s fingers under his as his neighbor kept his hand on the mug to steady it. He swallowed slowly, not wanting the contact to end. They were long, slender fingers that didn't look like they'd seen combat. Steve knew from Natalia that he had though. Somehow that made these hands even more attractive to him. He finally put his lips back to the mug and took another drink, smaller and slower this time. Bucky said nothing, seeming infinitely patient as he waited for Steve.

“Okay… try a few sips of this.”

“What is it?”

“Just try it,” he smiled. “It’ll help. Promise.”

Steve took a sip and grimaced. “Tastes like flat Coke.”

“Yeah, it’s cola extract,” Bucky explained. “I keep this shit on hand. Don’t haveta wait for ginger ale or Sprite to go flat. S’always ready. It's a little hard to find now, but really worth its weight in gold as far as I'm concerned.”

“Get sick a lot?” The question came out a tad snarkier than Steve intended, and he immediately apologized. “Sorry,” he sighed, settling back into the softness of the comforter. Sometimes it was just too easy for his bitterness over his health problems to make an appearance. It usually happened at the worst possible times too.

“S’okay,” Bucky shrugged. “I get cranky when I’m sick too… which is more than I like to think about… but that happens when you travel to some of the places I do.” 

“No family doctor around?”

“Nah,” Bucky scoffed. “I’m trained on basic medical care, just like the rest of my guys were. I’ve even got a setup for an IV saline drip for good measure… so if ya go south on me,” he winked, “I’ve got ya covered.”

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met, Buck.”

“I have a strange occupation, Stevie,” he shrugged again. “Now get s’more rest, okay? Gonna just cruise the channels while you sleep.”

“Buck, you don’t have to stay. I really will be okay.”

Bucky lifted Steve’s feet, sat down on the couch, then rested them in his lap. He patted Steve’s ankle as he reached for the remote.

“If there’s any good nature documentaries on, you’ll sleep like a baby,” Bucky mused, ignoring Steve's comment, “and I can get my inner geek on.”

“Inner…?” Steve smirked, but inside he was cursing this stomach bug and Barfsville along with it.

“Ha,” Bucky huffed with a smile. “I am the biggest nerd ever, but gotta keep it to home life, ya know? Gotta keep a tougher reputation outside…”

“That why you pretty much ignored me in the hallway?”

Eyes sliding sideways for just a moment to assess Steve’s actual mood, Bucky took a slow breath as he licked at his bottom lip. “Didn’t ignore you. Not at all.”

“Seemed like it,” Steve murmured. Something was happening here. People didn’t just flop down on a germy couch to watch over the stranger next door with nothing to gain from it. Steve didn’t dislike Bucky’s attention, but he didn’t understand it either. Not yet anyway.

“I saw what I needed to see,” Bucky murmured. “I remembered it later when it mattered.”

“Oh,” Steve half laughed, wondering if he should be insulted. “Didn’t matter right then, huh?”

Bucky winced, realizing his words hadn’t come across quite right. “Not then… I mean… I had to get them outside for their walk right then. They’re too hyper to try and have a friendly chat before they dislocate my wrist, ya know? I remembered you just fine; I have really detailed recall. S’why I’m good at what I do… what I did.”

“And what did you remember…?” Steve challenged, really wanting to know what kind of impression he'd made upon Bucky.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted a smidgen. “Someone I thought I might like to know… if he got over his dislike of my dogs.” He clicked the remote again and tilted his head. “Ahh, Nova!”

Steve glanced at the television, but then his gaze drew down to the fuzzy mutts beside him. He knew that Bucky was tracking his movement as he lifted his fingers to stroke Rig’s fur. Rig’s tail thumped loudly against the hardwood, and his mouth fell open into a canine grin. Steve was quickly learning to like the overgrown hound.

“I might have misjudged,” Steve hedged quietly. Bucky turned his eyes to his pups, then to Steve.

“A little… I can’t really defend the early morning howling… but I haven’t been able to catch that fucking cat either.”

“Cat,” Steve blinked, reaching for the mug of Pedialyte.

“Yeah, there’s a cat that sits outside my place on the sidewalk. The dogs go nuts and nothing I do helps, so I’ve been going out to try and catch the cat.”

“What’re you gonna do if you catch it?” Steve asked hesitantly. Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, then his poker face slid into place.

“Jesus, Steve. Nothing bad. Just need to find out who she belongs to so she stops taunting my dogs,” Bucky muttered.

"Sorry, didn't really mean to sound like I thought you were a serial cat killer." Steve smiled as he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him, “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“If it’s not a girl, then there’s a lot of gay cats out there trying to get under it’s tail for no good reason.”

"No good reason..." Steve suddenly felt like he was on a tightrope. Bucky seemed to be flirting, but that comment cast a little doubt in Steve's mind.

Bucky did a double take at Steve, giving him a look that made Steve feel like he was being carefully evaluated so that Bucky could answer in a very specific way. He bit at the inside of his cheek before replying with a healthy dose of sarcasm that Steve wanted to roll around in like a field of flowers.

"Gonna go out on a limb here and guess that boy cats don't appreciate the value of a prostate quite like we do."

And there it was. Bucky was well aware that Steve was interested, and he'd just opened the door to explore that. Steve actually snorted at Bucky's joke once he'd released the breath he'd been holding. Bucky’s sense of humor was a lot like his own, and Steve liked being around him already. This...? This could be good. Really, really good.

“So… what were you making in the kitchen? You were stirring something…?”

“Ah, yeah,” Bucky smiled. “Don’t get any of that until you stop throwing up though. Give it a couple of hours maybe.”

“Kinda hungry,” Steve frowned. He’d only had a little soup since last night. “Can I try some?”

“Sure,” Bucky nodded, and scooted out from under Steve’s feet. He soon came back with a small bowl of what first looked like oatmeal.

“Uh… not that I don’t appreciate this, but not really a fan of oatmeal…”

“Not oatmeal,” Bucky laughed. “Much, much better than oatmeal, and easy on your stomach. Try it.”

Steve sniffed at it, but his nose was already starting to clog up. Taking a deep breath, he brought a small bit to his mouth and took a tentative bite. To his surprise, it was plain rice, but made creamy by bananas and something else… apples…?

“This is actually pretty good,” Steve marveled, taking another bite. Bucky nodded, but put his hand to Steve’s forearm.

“Go easy for now. I’ll get you more and work you back up to better stuff once we know you’re outta Barfsville.”

“What all is in this?”

Bucky looked at the mixture in the bowl. “Just white rice, plain cooked apples mashed up with bananas, then mixed together. It’s bland enough to eat, but tastes better when you mix them together.”

“It’s a little frightening how much you know about this,” Steve mused past another small bite.

“Again,” Bucky sighed, “occupational hazard. I used to babysit five guys that like to drink on their time off… and sometimes you eat or drink shit that just doesn’t agree with you when you try it. This is survival knowledge at its finest, Stevie.”

“Guess so,” Steve smiled as he put the bowl down on the coffee table. “My good fortune, right?”

Bucky gave him that fascinating owl blink again.

“Right,” he finally smiled. Steve might’ve been feverish, but he didn’t imagine the drag of Bucky’s thumb across his ankle. It was ghostly light, but it was there. Steve snuggled down into the couch to go back to sleep.

He shifted his foot a little more snugly under Bucky’s palm.

 

*^*^*

 

“There you are,” Natalia smiled. She scooped up the feline and cuddled it close as it butted its forehead to her chin. “Well done, pretty girl. How about an tasty treat tonight?”

Nat looked up at the windows of Steve and Bucky’s apartments, noting Steve’s lights were on, but not Bucky’s. It was then that she caught the silhouette of a dog. A very big, very familiar dog.

“Well done indeed,” she cooed to the cat, whose tag was just a little too small to read. Had Bucky managed to get close enough, he would have instantly recognized the phone number etched onto the back of “Tabitha’s” ID tag.

“Sorry, but no more outdoor adventures now, okay? Your job’s done.” Nat climbed the stairs to her apartment and then let the cat down inside her door. Nat got comfortable on the couch, and Tabitha jumped into her lap, curled up, and eagerly nibbled at the leftover bits of pot roast she was offered. Nat smiled and rubbed her cat’s fur while she congratulated herself on a successful mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Steve, I grabbed a pic of Chris that was a bit different, but I liked that he didn't look too pretty boy perfect in it. Chris absolutely looks like he could be a comic book artist and partake of some occasional magic lettuce. He doesn't have facial hair in this story, but hey... he could very well decide to try it at Bucky's future request. ;)
> 
> I love Seb's hair like this, and since he's walking Betty here, you can easily imagine him taking Bella and Rig out for their walks.
> 
> And here they are, along with the stars they were named after. If you don't know much about blue giant type stars and want a real eye opener, there are comparisons online of Bellatrix's size against our own sun. There's a reason they show up so well in our sky! :D
> 
>   
> I'll let y'all guess which is Rig. I think it's pretty obvious, even without the slight difference in size. ;)


	9. Dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. I had another chapter in me. ;)

Natalia opened her door with bleary eyes. It was three-thirty in the morning, and Bucky hated waking her up, but he was feeling out of his depth. She took one look at him and her posture straightened dramatically while her expression became serious.

“Steve getting worse?”

“Weaker,” Bucky frowned. “He doesn’t want to go to the hospital, but I really think he needs to. I don’t wanna overstep though.”

“No, take him. He told me a while back that he was in and out of them as a kid, so he’s got more reason to hate them than most, but he needs to go, James.”

Bucky nodded and glanced back at Steve’s door. “I feel like this is my fault-”

“It isn’t.”

“But if the dogs hadn’t kept him up-”

“Stop it, James. It’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine for letting it go too long. Just get him to the hospital. If I need to bump a little off his rent… if he’s worried about the financial part… tell him not to.”

“That should probably come from you, but I’ll strong-arm him there if I have to.”

“Wanna take my car? Jeep’s a little bumpy.”

“Jeep’s a lot easier to clean out than your ‘Vette though,” Bucky snorted. “I got this… Can you-”

“Yes, I’ll watch the kids,” she smiled.

Bucky started back down the hallway. “Want me to bring them here?”

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “They’ll bug my cat. Leave them in your place and I’ll go hang out with them there.”

Bucky’s steps faltered, and he tipped his head slightly to the side without turning around. “Cat?”

“Tabitha,” Nat affirmed.

“How long have you had a cat?”

“Like five years, Bucky.”

He slowly turned around as an awful lot started to click into place. “And what exactly does this cat look like?”

Nat met his stare without flinching. He could tell she was trying not to look pleased with herself. “Like the one that’s been driving the babies nuts every morning for the last week.”

Eyes wide and mouth gaping, Bucky wrangled the spike in his temper. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he growled. “We were at each other’s throats over that!”

“I expected him to complain to me, and then I’d steer him in the right direction,” Nat shot back to defend herself. “I didn’t expect you both to regress back to caveman mentality.”

Bucky’s chest rose and fell with the adrenaline of his anger. He didn’t want to say anything he’d regret, but he couldn’t let this slide like he did with a lot of things Nat did… even if she let a lot of things slide with him.

“This conversation is not over, Nat.”

“Okay.”

“You owe Steve an apology,” he glowered, pointing a finger toward her.

“Agreed,” she nodded, taking his anger without complaint. “Go on. Go take care of Steve.”

He took a deep breath and backed away before he spit out anything else. He went back to Steve’s apartment and herded the twins into his place. They whined when he shut the door, but Nat would be over in a few minutes to keep them company. He was going to have to start weaning them off of constant supervision soon, but today definitely wasn’t the day for it.

Steve was sleeping when he came back into the front room. His face was terribly pale, and the circles below his eyes were indicative of dehydration, despite Bucky hooking him up to a saline drip earlier. Bucky unhooked it, but left the catheter in Steve’s hand. He covered it with a piece of taped-down gauze to keep it from becoming dirty, and then lifted Steve into his arms. He was so weak, but he still immediately bristled at being picked up.

“‘The fuck are you doing?”

“You’re going to the hospital Steve. Not gonna argue with you.”

Steve started pushing at Bucky, but soon he slumped limply against Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky… I don’t wanna go.”

“I know, pal, but this isn’t up for debate anymore. You should have perked up by now, especially with the stuff I’ve been giving you. Something else is going on.”

Steve pulled the door shut for Bucky when he asked him to, and then buried his face into Bucky’s neck. He took the elevator down, then walked as quickly as he could from the lobby to the Jeep. Even though Bucky had picked Steve up with his blanket still wrapped around him, Steve began to shiver in the dampness of the early morning air. 

“I know. I’m sorry, Stevie,” Bucky apologized as he got Steve into the Jeep. He hurried to the driver’s side and turned on the heat full blast once the engine started.

It had been four days since Bucky pushed his way into Steve’s apartment and started trying to nurse him back to health. Looking back, he wasn’t sure where that impulse had really come from, but the urge to protect Steve had been so instantaneous that it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Over that time, Bucky had fed Steve bland foods and made sure he had his daily medications close by. He’d monitored Steve’s intake of fluids, but Steve had started complaining of a bad headache earlier in the day. That was when Bucky decided to try the IV, since Steve was still vehemently refusing to go to the emergency room. He wasn’t throwing up anymore, but the real damage seemed to already be done to the fragile balance Steve’s body needed to maintain.

Bucky had gotten to know Steve better in spite of Steve being ill, and he’d come to adore Steve’s smartass retorts and dry humor. Their banter had been witty and sharp at first, but as Steve declined, he spoke little and joked even less. That was the scariest thing, because if Bucky had learned anything at all about Steve Rogers, it was that he always had to have the last word, and he always had to be a sassy little shit. Watching that fade away was terrifying for Bucky.

“Can you call… my primary…?”

“Sure, Stevie. Can you hand me your phone?”

“Not while you’re driving, no.”

Bucky held his hand out impatiently. “Steve, I can fire RPGs while driving. Gimme your phone.”

“Braggart.”

Bucky simply kept his hand out until he finally felt the weight of Steve’s Samsung against his palm. He swiped at the screen and saw the lock on it. He started to hand it back, but Steve didn’t move to take it. Bucky noticed how much he was still shaking.

“Three two five… five…”

Bucky typed in the code, but blinked in disbelief as another lock popped up when he tried to access Steve’s contact list.

“Paranoid much?” he ribbed, waving the phone toward Steve.

“I take a lot of drugs,” Steve deadpanned. “Seven zero three eight…”

Shaking his head, Bucky made the call.

 

*^*^*

 

“So you told our landlord?!”

Bucky winced at Steve’s incredulous look. True, he had sort of trounced all over Steve’s privacy with Nat, but it had been an emergency. He didn’t want to mess things up, and he’d needed a little reassurance that overriding Steve’s wishes was the right thing to do.

“She’s… not just our landlord. I’ve known Nat a long time.”

“And you think that gives you the right to discuss me being sick with her?” Steve’s eyes were aflame with deep annoyance. Bucky just wanted his sass to come back, but honestly, after two days of sitting in a sterile, cold hospital with only the beeps of Steve’s monitors to keep him company, he’d gladly take grouchy Steve over no Steve.

“You weren’t getting better, and I wasn’t sure what I should do because you kept insisting no hospital. I trust her judgement more than anyone.”

“She’s my landlord, Bucky, and this is the fourth time I’ve been seriously ill while I’ve lived there. That’s a very uncomfortable position for me to be in. She’s gonna think I’m not stable enough to keep up with my rent!”

“She doesn’t think that at all,” Bucky promised. “She thinks really highly of you.”

“She’s just saying that,” Steve fretted with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t know what she’s really thinking.”

“Oh, I do. Trust me, I do,” Bucky grunted. He wanted to laugh because Nat would never have connived and schemed to get them together if she thought anything remotely like that where Steve was concerned. She tended to be a snob when it came to the people Bucky hooked up with… but maybe that was because hooking up was all he usually did. 

“Nat’s never had any trouble with telling me exactly what she thinks… even when I don’t necessarily want to know.”

“Okay, I get that you’re friends but-”

“She’s my _ex-wife_ , Steve.”

“-that still doesn’t mean… what?”

“She’s my ex-wife,” Bucky repeated patiently, then watched as blatant disappointment spread across Steve’s face. It shouldn’t have made Bucky’s heart soar the way it did, but he couldn’t help it. Steve had it so, so wrong, and Bucky could sit there and explain every little detail, or he could just take a shortcut. A very bold, unmistakable shortcut. 

He reached out and cupped the back of Steve’s neck while his other hand came up to cup Steve’s jaw. His neighbor’s eyes widened as Bucky leaned in and brushed his lips over Steve’s. The sharp inhale of breath almost made him pull back, but then Steve’s chin moved just enough to make the contact less tentative and more firm. Bucky squeezed gently at Steve’s neck and put more into the kiss. With each sweet suckle and caress, Bucky wrote his intentions across Steve’s lips. By the time he pulled back, Steve was breathless and glassy-eyed against his pillow.

“You’re dumb,” Bucky murmured, stroking his thumb along the stubble on Steve’s jaw. Steve’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t seem genuinely upset.

“Thought the point of that was to get on my good side…” he pouted.

“Point of that was to tell you you’re dumb, Rogers,” Bucky answered quietly. 

“Dumb,” Steve repeated flatly.

“So dumb,” Bucky nodded.

“Not sure how to respond to that.”

“You respond by accepting that you don’t have to worry about an ex-wife that’s so ex, she’d kill me before she ever looked at me romantically again.”

“Okay that’s her,” Steve muttered, his eyes focused wantonly upon Bucky’s lips. “What about you?”

“Uh… wouldn’t kill her,” Bucky shrugged, “but the dentist sounds more fun than being married again.”

“But you’re still friends.” The frown on Steve’s mouth was more confused than anything.

“Yeah… it’s rare, but it happens. We never got horrible or nasty to one another. It was just passive aggressive shit until we finally realized we just have no business being a couple. She’s my best friend, Steve, but we’re way too different and way too alike in all the wrong ways to work romantically.”

“Sex must’ve been great,” Steve flippantly stated, testing the waters. Bucky jumped right in.

“The sex was great!” he laughed. “Kinda empty after a while though… if there’s nothing else backing it up…”

He scooted closer and put his index finger to Steve’s bottom lip, slowly tracing its outline. “What I do isn’t easy, Steve. It’s not easy on me, and it’s definitely not easy on the person I’m with… but if you think you could handle it… I’d like to see where this could go.”

Steve’s eyes searched his, gauging Bucky’s sincerity. Apparently he passed muster at least to some degree.

“Well you know how bad my morning breath is and you’re still here,” he shrugged noncommittally. 

“Oh it’s not just morning breath,” Bucky groaned playfully. “It’s sick person morning breath. I’m surprised my face hasn’t melted off already.”

“Such a jerk,” Steve groaned back. “Still think I’m dumb?”

“So dumb,” Bucky reiterated with a completely straight face, “but there could be hope for you yet…”

“Really,” Steve answered flatly. “Do tell.”

“It’d be really smart of you to let me take you out on a date that doesn’t include the BRAT diet or cola extract… or distrust of my dogs.”

Steve clutched at his heart and batted his lashes. Fuck, those things were long. 

“Ooh, no plain pasta either?”

“There’s a lot of joy to be found in a good putanesca sauce, Stevie. You should definitely let me enlighten you.”

“In a real restaurant and everything?” Steve joked, his eyes beginning to sparkle again. “Because I do trust your dogs… just not with any type of food I might be trying to eat.”

“An honest-to-god real restaurant with waiters, mood lighting, and zero husky thievery,” Bucky swore to Steve with his hand raised to show utter sincerity.

“No disgusting yogurt either?”

“Was thinking more along the lines of tiramisu or lava cake,” Bucky mused, his mouth starting to water just thinking about it in conjunction with ravaging Steve afterward.

“Sounds like a nice night.”

“I think it has definite potential, Stevie.”

“I got no plans tomorrow night,” Steve smiled.

“Uh, might be a bit soon. I’d like taking advantage of you to at least be an option,” Bucky joked.

“Now there’s incentive.” Even though he was still weak, there was definite heat behind his gaze. It went through Bucky like an electric current.

“You should get some sleep, Stevie.”

“Can you find me a toothbrush and toothpaste? Listerine at least? I want another kiss before you go, and I’d like it to not taste like ass.”

Bucky leaned close, ignoring the dragon breath as he whispered, “Ass doesn’t taste like that… and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Still want a toothbrush,” Steve barely managed to rasp, his chest visibly hitching. “Y’know… if you can manage that sort of thing.”

“I freed eighteen people in Uganda, Steve,” Bucky sighed as he climbed from the bed. “I think I can manage to find you a toothbrush.”

“Always with the bragging!”

“Hey,” Bucky feigned offense as he poked Steve in the chest. “Just wait until I’m officially your boyfriend and you get to go around bragging about the Russian diplomat I saved!”

“Can I even do that?” Steve asked, his voice dubious.

“Not really,” Bucky admitted sheepishly, but it made Steve snort loudly.

“Toothbrush,” he commanded, pointing to the door.

“Copy that.” His voice soft and sweet, Bucky’s grin reflected the big, ridiculous puddle of warm, gooey feelings in his chest and gut.

He’d find the best toothbrush and mintiest toothpaste ever found in a community hospital ever, and then he’d totally spend the next hour or so making sure that Steve hadn’t missed a single spot.


End file.
